Earmuffs
by darkchocolatecupcake
Summary: It's always bothered me when adults told me that their Hogwarts years were the best of their lives. Because honestly, Hogwarts is completely exhausting. More specifically, fancying Scorpius Malfoy is completely exhausting. / Featuring the kitchens, Scorpius, Rose, and a pair of ugly earmuffs. One-shot. Fluff-a-duff-duff.


**Earmuffs**

_**A/N:** I haven't written in years, but Rose/Scorpius has never ceased to be my favorite pairing._

_**Disclaimer:**__ I feel like I need to make an even "bigger" disclaimer than usual, as the key scene is heavily based off of the Korean drama _Pasta _(which I highly recommend!). So not my plot. And of course, J.K. Rowling's brilliant characters and setting. I just like to play with them. Now, without any further ado…_

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It's always bothered me a bit when adults told me that their years at Hogwarts were the best years of their lives.

Because you get to fifth year and wonder if you're really having "the best years of your life" when all your professors and parents talk about are the O.W.L.s and you spend hours upon hours in classes and bookshelves. And when you decide to finally give that a rest, all anyone else talks about is the hormone-charged drama that seems to unfold during every mealtime and behind every suit of armor.

Are the best years of my life supposed to be this...exhausting?

This is the part where Albus rolls his eyes and says, "Merlin, Rose, stop being so dramatic." And while the logical side of me wholeheartedly (and gratefully) agrees that my definition of "exhaustion" is laughingly ridiculous compared to the true terrors that my parents experienced in their Hogwarts years, the logical side of me has recently been reduced to smithereens, thanks to, well, the source of my exhaustion:

Scorpius Malfoy.

(Disclaimer: I did say laughingly ridiculous.)

At the ripe old age of fifteen, I've learned that there are actually a few things even more exhausting than keeping up with classes and the rumour mill. They are, in ascending order:

1. Fancying a boy.

2. Fancying a boy who is in your friend circle.

3. Fancying a boy who is in your friend circle who knows that you fancy him.

I, Rose Weasley, can attest to these truths. And I am sure that I am not the only one. But to all those who cannot sympathize with me, do me the honor of letting me state my case.

Fancying a boy is mentally, emotionally, and in worst-case scenarios, physically exhausting. Each glimpse of the Boy sets the nerves on edge. Each conversation with the Boy inspires heart palpitations. Each night becomes an opportunity for play-by-play scrutiny of every interaction with the Boy that day. All this could lead to loss of academic performance, sleep, and appetite. Fortunately for me, not even this affects my I-could-eat-a-hippogriff appetite. But others may not be so lucky.

Now, if the Boy happens to be in your friend circle, you would suppose this to be for the better, right? Wrong. Because while proximity to the Boy brings thrills, it also brings exhaustion. You see, now the number of glimpses, conversations, and general interactions increase exponentially with the number of mutual friends. More frayed nerves, more heart palpitations, and more play-by-plays.

And fancying a boy who is in your friend circle who also _knows_ that you fancy him just takes the cake. Now, awkwardness skyrockets, and paranoia becomes coupled with the exhaustion. You don't want to come off as a desperate slag, but you don't want to come off as unfriendly, either. You start to not only scrutinize his words and actions, but your own as well. You plot and strategize for damage control the day after a conversation that was perhaps too flirty or too stilted.

The nice part about all this, I suppose, is the adaptability of the human body. (Yeah, bet you didn't see that brilliant conclusion coming.) Sooner or later, the body simply cannot handle the sheer amount of exhaustion and begins to adjust accordingly. After conversations with the Boy, the heartbeat will resume its regular pace with increasing ease. In the play-by-play examinations of interactions with the Boy, the brain will shut down sooner. Nerves become more calm. Less plotting, more sleeping. Defense mechanism, I've concluded. Self-preservation and all.

Yeah, I could definitely write a dissertation on this.

Fortunately, dissertations are not required on the O.W.L.s, and I am instead preoccupied with warming my toes in the aftermath of my first full-fledged snowball fight of the year. I shake the off the powdery snow and cast a hot-air charm all over my robes before directing my wand at my soaking boots. When my toes finally begin to tingle with feeling, I look up to see that most of my friends are already halfway down the Grand Hall. Those impatient little—

"All right, Rose?" a familiar voice sounds from behind me.

I turn quickly to face Scorpius. How long has he been standing behind me? "Er, yeah. I can feel my toes now, at least." I crack an awkward smile.

He cracks a completely non-awkward one in return, and my heart begins to perform its speedy gymnastics routine in my ribcage. I thought my body was used to this Boy by now, after a few months. Adapted after few months of knowing that he knows I fancy the pants off him. But there is something about the snow, still glinting in the background behind him, and the prominent flush on his normally pale skin, and the way his scarf is wrapped loosely around his neck that sets my whole body on edge, more than I've felt in a very long time. Oh yes, and also the fact that we were alone.

"That's good." A pause, in which he takes off his gloves and begins to wiggle his fingers around. I look away and feel like my body is crumbling under the intensity of being near the Boy. "Fancy a run to the kitchens?"

"Sorry?" I blink, because he's taken two steps closer to me.

"The kitchens. I was thinking we could swing by for some hot chocolate." His tone is casual, but he's half-smirking now. Clearly he knows what he's doing to me, and I'd be outraged if I weren't so surprised at the offer. And spellbound by his presence in general. Merlin, I'm pathetic.

"Sure. That sounds great, actually." I manage not to stutter.

We meander downstairs to the kitchens and complain about our workload along the way. By the time he is tickling the green pear, I am marveling at the length and natural flow of our conversation. I don't think I've ever been alone with him this long before.

The house elves hustle and bustle around us until we assure them that our oversized mugs of hot chocolate are perfect, and we don't need anything else, thank you so much. As they resume their duties, Scorpius and I blow the steam off the tops of our drinks and sip in silence. He stands a few feet away and casually watches the house elves work, and I eye him cautiously (greedily) from my seat. From his bleached blonde hair to the slope of his jawline to his long fingers gripping the mug, there an undeniable attractiveness about Scorpius Malfoy.

He turns, catches my gaze, and chuckles softly to himself. Before I can feel embarrassed, he asks, "You're not going to take off your ugly earmuffs?"

I shook my head, sticking my nose toward the ceiling. I adore my ugly fuzzy mauve earmuffs. Teddy gave them to me two Christmases ago as part of our family's gag gift exchange tradition. Mum cringed when I tried them on, but I'd been wanting earmuffs for forever, and I saw no reason for the clashing colors to inhibit my use of them. In fact, the more that people declared their ugliness, the more I loved them.

Scorpius sets his mug down and comes over to my bench, sitting so close to me that I instinctively start to edge away. But I stop when his hands reach out to both sides of my head and rub my fuzzy earmuffs in small circles. I want ask him what he's doing, but the words get stuck in my throat. I take a breath, and he withdraws his hands.

"Well, you might want to take them off, because I have something to tell you that you might want to hear." His voice is lower than usual, but he is so close that I don't have to strain to hear him.

"Huh?" I cock my head to the side and scrunch my eyebrows together, pretending I can't hear him. "What'd you say?"

He regards me with what seems like amusement and doesn't repeat himself. The light humor from my bad joke fizzles away, and a few moments pass in stillness. He continues to just stare at me. I can't take it anymore and look down at my hot chocolate. When I look back up, his face is closer, far closer than it has ever been before. I would've jumped if my body didn't freeze up.

"Rose Weasley." My name rolls slowly off his tongue. He pauses. "You know, your nose is a bit crooked." He gently gives my nose a tap.

Whatever I expected to come out of his mouth, it certainly wasn't that. I am too shocked to say anything, but I feel a painful, angry heat begin to bloom up my neck and into my face. His words cut into me, but his touch was so soft. My mind swirls, a hurricane of emotions.

"You've got freckles to spare. You're not really that attractive, by conventional standards." His words come almost at a thoughtful pace, but his tone is light. As if he is discussing the weather. My eyes are beginning to sting, and I glare at my hot chocolate. Just what exactly is he playing at? I want to scream and maybe even slap him in dramatic fashion, but something in his voice binds every muscle in my body. I sit silently, completely immobilized.

"But you know," he continues, "there is one thing about you that's pretty attractive."

"Oh, yeah?" I actually manage to sound more sarcastic than hurt. "What's that?"

"This."

And then I feel the slow impression of his mouth against my forehead. I jerk my head back in shock at the contact, my eyes wide. He hasn't backed away and in fact looks as relaxed as ever.

"Your brains. Oh, and this too." He leans forward, closer and closer until my eyelids flutter shut. He drops kisses onto my eyelids. "You've got beautiful eyes."

What is happening to me? If I was frozen with hurt and anger before, it's nothing compared to how I feel now. I can do nothing but gawk at him as my brain attempts to catch up with reality. Scorpius Malfoy just told me I had beautiful eyes. And an attractive brain. Whatever that's supposed to mean.

Scorpius reaches out a hand and lifts up my right earmuff. His eyes don't leave mine. "Hey, Rose? I hope you're listening," he murmurs. "Because I'm trying to tell you that I fancy you, too."

He has officially stolen my voice. The only response I seem to be capable of is blinking like mad at him. Then, because I don't know what else to do, I raise my mug to my lips and take a long, slow mouthful of hot chocolate. Mid-swallow, the full impact of his words seems to hit me, and happiness crashes over me like a wave. Scorpius Malfoy fancies me. I laugh out of pure happiness, which leads to a violent coughing fit as the hot chocolate catches in my throat. Scorpius looks alarmed and automatically starts patting my back, but I shake my head and smile at him, half-laughing, half-coughing. The noises sound horrendous and somewhat donkey-like, but he is laughing too, and my cough-laughs turn into full laughs.

I set my mug down, and we gaze at each other. Silence creeps in, replacing the laughter, but I feel like it's going to come back at any moment.

"Oh, I'm so hot!" I exclaim. I start to fan myself stupidly, but nothing's going to reduce the all-encompassing blush that is on my face. My entire body is in flames. His face being so near make my insides feel _molten_.

"I told you, take off those blasted earmuffs." Scorpius slips them off of my head in one smooth motion and twirls them around in his hands.

We gaze at each other some more. I'm sure I have the most idiotic grin on my face.

"Merlin, you're blushing so hard," he finally says, starting to laugh again.

"Shut it!" I shove his shoulder. "You are, too!" He is. His cheeks are absolutely glowing.

"Must be contagious."

"Must be. I'm bad for your health."

"I'll say." He is staring at me again, smirking softly.

I grab my earmuffs from his hands because my fingers are twisting themselves into knots. "Do you really fancy me?" My voice sounds bolder and more laughter-filled than I expect, because this almost feels like a joke.

His hand wraps around the back of my head, gently tugging me toward him. Our foreheads touch, and I think I'm going to go cross-eyed trying to hold his gaze. "I thought you were listening." His voice is low and teasing.

"I was. Or at least, I was trying to through my earmuffs."

"Well, that's not my fault. I told you to take them off."

I can't think of a reply, much less a clever one, so I just smile and shrug. For some reason, this makes him chuckle.

"If you must know, I think I may fancy you even more than you fancy me."

I start to reply with something along the lines of, "That's pretty much impossible." But I don't get a chance, because his lips are very suddenly and very gently touching my own.

Best years of my life? Eh, it would honestly take some hindsight to make that judgement. But this is definitely a step in the right direction.

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_I seriously need to work on my endings. But w__oohoo! My first R/S story! And I have no idea why it's set during the winter, considering I'm smack dab in the middle of summer right now. _

___Please review. I'd love your feedback on my first story in many, many years._

_with love, DCC_


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